


oh father, tell me, do we get what we deserve

by remuslupin



Category: Dane Gang - Fandom, Kill Your Darlings (2013)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blood, Blood Drinking, Gen, Vampires, and maybe allen, honestly idk which characters are gonna be in this, i'm assuming david will be in it at some point?, idk i'll add em in as i go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-18
Updated: 2016-03-24
Packaged: 2018-05-27 09:30:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6279016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/remuslupin/pseuds/remuslupin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a series of oneshots about lucien carr's experiences as a vampire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. so tell me when you hear my heart stop

**Author's Note:**

> will i be enthusiastic enough to keep this going? who knows. at least i tried.
> 
> there is a complete lack of capitalisation because it looks more ~poetic~ and i'm also a lazy asshole. reviews would be appreciated!!

he looks older. 26, 27? after a few moments of internal debate, you do the math in your head— it’s 1948. he must be 26, then.

as always, his movements are exaggerated and confident as you watch him entertain himself in the vastly overcrowded club. it’s been almost four years; and yet, it would seem that the only thing that has changed is _you_. he still comes to the same, crappy joint every thursday for the weekly bar special, still has that rambunctious and boyish laughter that shakes his entire body and never fails to ring throughout the room no matter how loud (or quiet— a rare occurrence) he is trying to be, but rather than laughing right along with him and savouring every drop of wine that passes through your lips, you’ve instead been shadowing him silently from the moment he walked out onto the street just after sunset. it had been perfect timing, really— you had just begun to look for him, and it had almost seemed as if _he'd_ found _you_ instead.

but, of course; he’s not looking for you. in fact, you doubt that he’s been looking for you at all since 1944. you’ve been missing, yes, but he had expected it. you _know_ he had expected it. leaving the city— leaving the _creep,_ who had insisted on following you _everywhere—_ had been all you’d ever wanted to talk about during the time you had spent with him in your final few weeks as a human.

you expect that he’d just assumed you had fled without saying goodbye. after all, it wouldn’t have exactly been an out of character decision.

although your gaze has been dreamy and out of focus as you ponder, it snaps back into focus as he stands and makes his way towards the exit. you take it as your cue to leave, too, and follow him towards the doorway with a soundless gait (even if it hadn’t been so, your footfalls would have undoubtedly been drowned out by the music and loud chattering).

it’s cold out. at least, you're assuming it's cold outside— you haven't left the bar yet, but he’s already out on the dimly lit street, and you can see that he has shoved his hands into the pockets of his trousers. while still inside, you take the opportunity to button up your coat. you’re already feeling icy inside for some inexplicable reason; you don’t want to look like a shivering idiot once you catch up to him.

immediately, the noise around you dulls down to a hush as you push the door open  and step out onto the pavement. you could hear _more_ if you wanted to, but you’re only interested in him. you’re more than twenty steps behind him, but you can practically feel him breathing with every languid step he takes. his right leg moves forward, and he breathes in. when the left leg follows, he breathes out. it’s been a long time since you’ve seen anyone act this calm in your presence.

then again, he’s not exactly aware of your presence just yet. which brings you to your next task.

it’s now or never, you decide; which is why you don't bother dodging the empty bottle at your feet. it spirals away from the toe of your shoe with a loud clattering noise, and he stops short in his tracks.

once upon a time, the two of you would have picked fights together outside of low-end clubs like this. now, however, he looks like he’s ready to pick a fight with _you_ as he whirls around on unsteady feet. your sharp gaze sees it in his expression— the splash of drunken determination, and the contrasting sprinkle of hesitance— before his gaze finally hones in on you, and the fire in his eyes is extinguished.

next comes the disbelief. it spreads across his features like a dull fog as his lips part, and his chest rises with the deep breath that he sucks in.

“—lu?”

you make no move to speak his name in return. instead, your eyes hungrily sweep over his face as if it’s the last time you’ll ever see it (in all actuality, though, it’s the _first_ time you’ve properly seen it in years; the first time you’ve seen it since before you died). as he steps closer to you, however, your focus snaps back into place and you take a step back in return. it’s a dance that you aren’t quite willing to carry out, but will if you have to.

“lu,” he repeats (you can tell he’s trying his best to concentrate, to snap through his alcohol-induced haze and just bring all of his attention to you), holding up both of his hands to show that he’s not planning on hurting you, “we’ve been looking for you. lu, we’ve been looking for so long, and—“

you don’t want to hear it anymore. you don’t want to hear the story he’s undoubtedly been developing in his head for four years in case you ever came back— the story that you can just _tell_ he’s been honing so that you won’t feel like your friends have left you behind.

you don’t want to hear it. validation is the last excuse you’d use to justify coming back here.

he stops mid-sentence as you wordlessly reach forward and fold your fingertips into the sleeve of his jacket, eyes boring into his as you will him to just stop _talking_. it had taken a long time to develop that particular skill of yours, but when your sire had mentioned something about it— when he had mentioned that vampires often possessed one unique skill, developed from a particular trait— you’d just known what your own had to be. after all, you really had only ever been particularly excellent at one thing.

you’d never wanted to use it on _him_ of all people, but you don't know what other options you have. all there is to do is make a decision.

to create a fledgling, the victim must be mostly drained, and then injected with venom. you know _that_ much, at least. you know that much, because you've spent the most part of four years practicing self control, all so that you could finally come back here and carry out this master plan of yours. find him, turn him, erase every shred of loneliness that you’d made for yourself as soon as the stake had been pushed from your hand into your sire’s heart.

in some ways, you regret it— finding your own way in this world has been difficult. learning to feed, to utilise every aspect of your newfound abilities, to _survive_ , has been even more so.

in regards to most other matters— the matters of your feelings, and of your heart— your only regret is that you did not kill him sooner.

your one true regret is that you did not kill him before he killed _you_.

despite everything— despite your flaws, and your mistakes, and your horrendously cruel tendencies— you know that you didn’t deserve this. and if _you_ didn’t deserve this fate, then _he_ definitely doesn’t. but you are selfish. you are lonely. you need him.

a twisted kind of pleasure settles over your chest as you wordlessly tug him into a side-street and realise that _he’ll_ need _you_ once this is over; that you’ll finally be needed by someone who isn’t five hundred years older than you and thirsting for your blood—

the two of you have already travelled halfway down the alleyway before you stop short, fingers grasping tightly at his jacket. what have you become? why are you turning into _him_?

he’s had five glasses of alcohol, his eyes are glassy and clouded, but from the way he looks at you, you can tell that he just _knows_ you’re not okay.

“lu, come on. talk to me.” his hand lifts and settles uncertainly atop your shoulder. he looks as disconcerted as you feel. “what’s going on? where have you been?”  

your head is shaking from side to side before you’re even fully aware of it. you can’t tell him; not yet. maybe not ever, if you choose to just walk away and never come back to this city again.

he’s still staring at you when you glance back at him. a shiver runs through your body as the wind flutters over your cheek, and for the first time in _hours_ , you breathe in. he smells like alcohol and blood and _life_.

“...lu?”

you can't– you _don't want to_ – fight it anymore. your fingertips skim down his cheekbone, over his neck and across his prominent adam’s apple, before your grip tightens and moves down to the collar of his jacket. with a growing sort of desperation, you force every inch of fabric that separates his skin from yours away from his neck, before your teeth are sinking sharply into his jugular.

almost immediately, he’s thrashing. you probably would concentrate more on getting him to stay still if you hadn’t been so enamoured with how warm his blood feels as it trickles down your throat and heats your entire body. he is silent (your initial demand for him to stay quiet must still be in place), and that is all that matters to you.

you shouldn’t have left it so late to feed. you had thought that resisting the temptation of blood would have gifted you with some self control for when the time came to put it into use, but now all you want to do is _drink_ and hold him close and let yourself become intoxicated by the alcohol in his system.

he hasn’t been drinking any of your favourites tonight, but you still appreciate the prevalent flavour of his blood that has been induced by the cheap beer that he had always favoured. he’s still pushing and fighting against you, and so you blindly force him backwards and pull him down until he’s sitting against the brick wall of the alleyway, and you’re all but on top of him.

your hands slide across his shoulders, up his neck, into his hair, and curl into the thin strands as you feed. his grip is weaker, and he pushes at your chest with a vigour that steadily lessens with each sucking movement your lips make.

the minutes drag by. his struggling ceases.

you should stop soon.

you are all-too aware of the fact that you should stop soon.

you have also been a vampire long enough to recognise when someone’s heart has finally stopped beating.

even so, it isn't something that you pick up on until your veins are practically bursting with the new addition of stolen blood. when you do, though, your teeth rip carelessly from his throat as you pull away and grab his wrist. desperately, you search for a pulse that is no longer there.

 _your_ heart, in contrast, pounds heavily in your ears with every beat. your fingertips stain with blood as they shakily push down over the punctures on his neck as if one touch can fix everything.

the crimson liquid on your fingers paints a nonsensical picture over his cheek as your hand finally slides upwards and ghosts across his face. this can't be happening.

“—jack?”

jack kerouac is going to stay 26 forever. but not with you.


	2. let me in on all your secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which lucien finds out what the consequences are from entering a house uninvited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as this fic (obviously) isn't in chronological order, i just thought i'd shove in a chapter involving lu as a human!! there will probably be one/two more chapters with human!lu, but the rest will be vamplu.

he’s never followed you all the way back to your dormitory before. he has shadowed you closely on your solo visits to the nearby bars and late night walks around campus, yes, and has tailed you during most (if not all) of your evening outings with your friends— but this is different.

he has never been this _bold_.

you stay silent as you begin the short trek from the entranceway of the dormitory to your room, even though you can _feel_ him trailing after you. you pass allen’s room; your fingertips skim lightly over the brass rim of the doorknob as you walk past it, and he lets out a quiet sound of disapproval. you make no move to draw your fingers away before you absolutely have to.

no more interactions pass between the pair of you until you come to a halt in front of your own door. your hand closes over the handle, but you hesitate before you can make any other movements. with the languid speed of a lover’s caress, you glance over your shoulder before your ice-blue gaze finally meets with his. “this is your cue to leave.”

“let me in, lu. just this once—”

“i’m not stupid. once is all it takes.” you know what he is. you know what he wants from you— he wants you to be a companion, a friend, a _lover_ ; but you don’t plan on giving anything to him. not when he’s spent the last few months forcefully _taking_ what’s left of your voice; what’s left of your _dignity_ , and your _freedom_.

you finally turn the knob and push the door open (you never bother to lock it; the other boys in your dormitory have known better than to tamper with anything in your room ever since your brutal retaliation involving a fire hose and their beds-— with them in it— after your own bed had been short-sheeted). only half of your body manages to make it into the room before he reaches in and grabs your arm. you are caught so off-guard that he is faced with no resistance, and pulls you back towards him with ease.

nostrils flaring in contempt, you look down at his white-knuckled grip on your forearm before meeting his gaze with a scowl. “let me _go_ , or else i’ll scream.”

his grip loosens in defeat, and you wrench your arm away from him before stepping past the threshold and into the safety of your room. after spinning back towards the doorway, one of your hands closes around the doorknob. you’re ready to use the wooden barrier to separate the two of you if need be.

somehow, he must be able to sense your apprehension. once again, he begins to inch forward, and his hand stretches out towards you as if wanting to touch your cheek— but it stops, and hovers just behind the invisible barrier that the doorframe creates.

“please.” he doesn’t have to repeat himself in full in order for you to know what he’s asking for.

your eyes narrow dangerously at the grossly repetitive request that leaves his lips. after a moment’s deliberation, you take a step back, and wordlessly pull the door further open. if he wants to be a suicidal _idiot_ , then so be it. “entertain me, then.” today has apparently not been quite exciting enough. yet.

“if you don’t invite me in, then i’ll bleed out.”

you stare at him with raised brows. clearly, he’s honing his dramatic side again. “that’s not my problem.”

almost a full minute passes between the two of you before he makes a move; and even then, you're first under the impression that he's going to leave. of course, though, things never end up playing out the way that you think they will. not when it comes to him.

you retreat backwards into your room almost automatically as he walks in, and watch on warily as he takes one, then two steps inside. that’s where he stops, and hovers just past the doorway as he stares fixedly at you. what unsettles you the most, however, is not that he’s in your room— rather, it’s the fact that he actually _fits in_. he fits in amongst the students of columbia, and in the noisy dorms, despite the fact that he’s a...well, despite the fact that he’s a vampire. he _looks_ the part of a college student, after all. it almost unnerves you, to think that he hasn’t visibly aged a day since you were eleven and seemingly bored enough with your life to actually want to be in boy scouts. that fact alone (the fact that he’ll never age, while you get older and older with each day) would almost be enough of a reason to let him turn you. you’ve always been rather vain, after all— but he’s told you about the bond between sires and fledglings before, on nights when you didn’t feel like going home and he wanted someone to share his secrets with. you’d rather die prematurely than spend a lifetime with _him_.

a quiet groan pulls you back to the present. at first, you think that someone else has invaded the privacy of your room, but as your gaze is drawn back to the vampire, you realise that _he_ is the one who had let the noise slip through his clenched teeth. your eyes narrow as you ready yourself to ask what exactly is causing him to make such a fuss— but then, you finally see it.

blood is trickling from his nose. as you continue watching on in a mute kind of fascination, you realise that the thick liquid isn’t just leaking out of _one_ part of his body, either. crimson is trailing from the orifices of his ears, his mouth— even his _eye sockets_ are being used to allow thin rivulets of blood to pour onto his cheeks.      

he’s shared countless secrets with you that pertain to vampirism— the enhanced senses, the strength, the unique powers— but if he had ever bothered to tell you about anything like this, you _know_ that you would have remembered. as you watch on, it becomes rather clear that there have been things that he has been keeping from you in an attempt to sway you in his favour. he had made you aware of the fact that without a verbal invitation he’d never dare step inside of a residence owned by someone, but you had never actually known _why_.

now, however, it seems that he’s not going to even try to hide the darker side of his condition from you. in fact, the way he stares at you almost seems challenging. your choice is clear— you may either invite him in, or let him die. rather than bringing yourself to make any sort of decision yet, though, your gaze continues to slide over his bloodied face with an almost intrigued expression.

it’s a rather disgusting display, but he should be well aware of the fact that you've seen worse on the streets of new york. compared to some of the vulgar and obscene sights that you’ve laid eyes upon, a little _blood_ is nothing that you can't handle.

thus, you don’t even blink. you’ve had more than enough of the manipulation that he’s tried to put you through today. you know that you should be choosing one of two options; but at the last moment, you decide to choose a third.

“get out.”

“lu, i’m dying—”

“you _wouldn’t be_ if you hadn’t come in here in the first place. _get out_ , david.”

the pair of you continue to stare at each other until you finally break the eye contact and turn away from him. you aren’t willing to play this game. not tonight. you make it all the way to your mattress on the floor, and even manage to slide your scarf away from your neck, before finally giving into temptation and turning back towards the direction of the entrance.

the only evidence left of david is the droplets of blood on the floor, fallen from the narrow streams that had poured from his ears and nose while he had taken it upon himself to be an uninvited guest in your room. when you finally climb into bed, you can’t decide if you’re wishing that you’d invited him in, or that he’d just stayed inside and bled out as you watched.


End file.
